


you'll never wait so long

by newamsterdam



Series: brunch friends [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Medical, Backstory, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Marriage, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8978197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam
Summary: Matsukawa hums thoughtfully. “You know, I’m probably not the best person to give advice about relationships, but I’m sure your man’s going to be just fine. Scary-looking as you are, Iwaizumi, I get the feeling that you’re a pretty good husband.” 
  Iwaizumi isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean, but it sounds like a compliment. “Um. Thanks?” 
  Matsukawa’s lips stretch into a thin, but not insincere smile. “You’re welcome. Look, you trust this guy of yours, right?” 
  The answer comes easily. “I trust him with my life.” 
  “See? There you go—”
  But Iwaizumi isn’t done, and he continues, talking over Matsukawa. “Just not with his own.”
Doctor Iwaizumi Hajime's life has been going so well, it only makes sense that there'd be complications to follow. If only his husband would tell him what those complications are, he'd be able to fix things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a direct sequel to [here comes your man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7378066), but can be read alone. all you need to know is that iwaizumi is a surgeon, oikawa is a lawyer, and they are very, very married.
> 
> there's some lowkey smut in the first scene; to skip it, cut to the first scene break after "I'm not the complainer."

Iwaizumi throws his weight against the door as he twists the key in the lock, pushing into it with his shoulder in two abortive shoves before it finally swings open. He scowls at it, swinging it closed behind him as he sheds his shoes in the entry and glances around for his husband.

The living room and dining table, visible from the entry, are both empty. Iwaizumi takes a moment to toss his keys into the bowl on one of the end tables before walking through the living room, glancing with a half-smile at the pictures hanging on the wall.

The benefit of having known each other for so long is that he and Oikawa have no shortage of pictures. Oikawa had obsessed over which ones were worthy of being hung on the wall, taping up different combinations to try them out. He’d eventually decided on three, now displayed in matching silver frames.

The first shows Oikawa and Iwaizumi in high school. Oikawa’s beaming at the camera, one arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, pulling him close for the picture. His smile is all teeth, his eyes squinted shut. Iwaizumi looks caught off-guard, but there’s a half-smile playing on his own lips, and a spark of happiness in his gray-green eyes. 

It’s Iwaizumi’s favorite picture, because Oikawa isn’t posing. His happiness had been contagious and genuine, that day, and Iwaizumi remembers glancing at the redness of his cheeks and wondering what it would be like to kiss the skin there. It was a thought he’d immediately swallowed down, shutting it away for years afterward. 

The second picture is of Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s wedding day. Oikawa wears a cream suit, Iwaizumi dove gray. They aren’t standing particularly close, but they hold out their arms to one another so that they can link hands, each of their wedding rings perfectly visible. 

And finally there’s Iwaizumi’s graduation from medical school. Oikawa is hugging him from the side and flashing a victory sign at the camera, which his nephew Takeru mimics from another corner of the scene. Takeru’s mother, Oikawa’s sister, stands just behind him, though she’s reaching over to rustle Iwaizumi’s hair. Oikawa’s mother stands on the other side of her son, though she reaches past him to pinch Iwaizumi’s cheek. He stands at the center of this chaos, smiling broadly, one hand at Oikawa’s waist and the other forming a fist which he extends towards the camera as a symbol of strength and triumph. 

Iwaizumi pauses before this last picture, smiling again now at the memory. When he steps away from it a moment later, his socked feet slide forward suddenly, and Iwaizumi has to scramble to catch himself. When he looks down at the floor, he sees a scrap of silk and frowns.

He reaches down and plucks Oikawa’s blush pink tie off the ground, glancing at it as though it’s offended him. Though his husband takes substantial pride in their home’s decor— the pictures and frames were just one of many _very important_ decisions, in that regard— he has no sense for tidiness. He must’ve loosened his tie, coming home, and then dropped it here by mistake. 

Iwaizumi shakes his head and goes from the living room to the hallway, only to be met by a larger piece of clothing— one of Oikawa’s expensive suit blazers, charcoal-colored and carelessly discarded on the floor. Iwaizumi’s frown deepens as he picks the blazer up and drapes it over one arm. 

He finds two socks— argyle, also expensive— and the matching pair of charcoal pants further into the hallway. By this point, he’s gone from mildly annoyed to very curious. Oikawa’s a slob, sure, but he cares about his wardrobe. If he’s left a trail of clothing for Iwaizumi to find, it’s for a reason. 

And that thought summons the image of Oikawa clad in only his dress shirt, the ends of it skimming his thighs, sitting on their bed and waiting for Iwaizumi to come home…

Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat, and he nearly misses the discarded shirt— ivory, and it had been freshly-pressed this morning— on the ground outside their bedroom door. He drapes it over his arm, too, tongue glancing over his lips as he pushes the door open with his shoulder. 

“Oh.”

Oikawa is lying on their bed, naked except for his silky boxers. He’s splayed out on top of the quilt, his long limps akimbo. He lies on his stomach, coppery brown hair mussed over his face, and he looks to be fast asleep.

But in the moment Iwaizumi expresses his disappointment aloud, Oikawa stirs, eyes blinking open and glancing around hazily before they focus on Iwaizumi. 

His lips curve then into a soft smile, so tender and genuine that the sight of it curls around Iwaizumi’s heart and squeezes. Even after decades of knowing each other, and ten years of being in love with Oikawa, and nearly seven years of being _with_ him, he still isn’t entirely used to seeing Oikawa’s most honest smile. 

“Iwa-chan?” His voice is caught in a yawn, smile gone as Oikawa’s lips go round with it. Then: “Welcome home.” 

“You’re asleep.” Iwaizumi can’t keep the accusation out of his tone, because he feels as though he’s been misled.

Oikawa reaches up to rub the sleep from his eyes, still lying on his stomach. “I was,” he says, yawning again. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, turning away to drape Oikawa’s clothes over a chair and trying to clamp down on his disappointment. 

“What’s wrong?” Oikawa asks immediately.

Iwaizumi turns back around, hoping he isn’t blushing. “Nothing. I just saw all your clothes in the hallway— seriously, where were you undressing?— and I figured…” 

Oikawa’s brown eyes light up at that. “Oh, _Iwa-chan_. Did you think I was trying to seduce you?” 

Iwaizumi blinks at him. “Why would you need to seduce me? We’re _married_.” 

“You did,” Oikawa says, voice going low, tone knowing. “You were imagining it, hmm? Coming home to find me in bed, waiting for you? You were just thinking about my body, weren’t you?”

Iwaizumi huffs, sitting down on one corner of the bed. He reaches out to trail one hand along Oikawa’s spine, smirking as Oikawa sighs into the touch.

“Of course I was,” he says flatly. “I’m allowed.”

“Mm.” Oikawa rolls over, coming close and taking Iwaizumi’s hand in his. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

This time, Iwaizumi laughs. “You like this is hardly disappointing.” He leans in and kisses Oikawa’s lips, tongue working over them slowly as Oikawa squeezes his hand.

Oikawa’s breathless when Iwaizumi pulls back, smiling apologetically. “I love you like this,” he says. “But I really am exhausted, Iwa-chan.” 

Iwaizumi leans in closer, mouth close to the shell of Oikawa’s ear. “So just lie there. Let me take care of you.”

Oikawa shivers, then nods. “Okay. But no complaining if I fall asleep, okay?”

“I’m not the complainer.” 

“Hey!”

Iwaizumi laughs again, getting up from the bed to shed the clean scrubs he’d worn home from the hospital. Because he isn’t a savage, he folds them and places them on top of the dresser, his laminated ID badge carefully placed beside them. Naked now, he goes back to the bed, immediately gathering Oikawa up in his arms and kissing him all over this face. 

Oikawa is breathless with giggles, squirming against Iwaizumi and burying his long fingers in Iwaizumi’s dark hair. 

“It’s good you woke up,” Iwaizumi tells him between kisses. “It’s been too long, you’ve been so busy—”

Oikawa cuts him off with a groan that has nothing to do with Iwaizumi’s hands cupping his ass. “ _Iwa-chan_. No talking about work. Not right now.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi agrees. He rubs his nose against Oikawa’s. “Just focus on me, then.”

Oikawa licks his lips. “I can do that.” 

Iwaizumi pushes Oikawa down onto the bed, pulling down his boxers with one hand. He takes Oikawa in hand with firm, knowledgeable touches, and before long Oikawa is panting below him, handles scrambling at Iwaizumi’s broad shoulders. 

“What would you like?” Iwaizumi asks, kissing against Oikawa’s throat.

Oikawa twists beneath him, moaning softly. “I don’t— care— whatever you want—”

Iwaizumi smiles against the soft skin of Oikawa’s throat, the maneuvers him onto his side, spooning in close behind him. “Grab the lube.”

Oikawa twists his head around to glance reproachfully at Iwaizumi. “Oh no, that’ll take forever— I need to _sleep_ , Hajime.”

“Trust me,” Iwaizumi says, nipping at Oikawa’s shoulder. 

Oikawa sighs again and relaxes against him. “Fine.” A moment later, he passing a bottle of lube over to Iwaizumi, who pulls back enough to flick the cap open.

“Now,” Iwaizumi instructs, “Legs together.” 

“ _Ah_.” Oikawa presses the long lines of his legs together, looking back over his shoulder at Iwaizumi. “I like the way you think.”

“You like more than that, I hope.” Iwaizumi chuckles, spreading the lube over his hands before rubbing it over the backs of Oikawa’s thighs. 

Oikawa shivers at his touch, then hums. “Of course. You’ve got those arms, and the prettiest eyes, and the things you do with your _mouth_ , Hajime—”

“Now who’s only thinking about the other’s body?” Iwaizumi taunts, barely teasing the rim of Oikawa’s hole with one finger before grabbing the bottle again, squeezing out more lube to coat his length. 

“You started it,” Oikawa says. “Besides. I’m allowed to enjoy you.”

“You are,” Iwaizumi agrees, kissing the nape of Oikawa’s neck. Then he presses in close behind him, wrapping one arm around Oikawa’s stomach and pulling him back against his chest. Oikawa pulls his legs tighter together, and Iwaizumi thrusts into the space between his thighs, groaning at the rough drag of his length against Oikawa’s skin. 

“And I do,” Oikawa murmurs, voice catching when Iwaizumi thrusts again. His hands flutter in front of him for a moment, but Iwaizumi beats him to his goal, reaching for Oikawa’s cock with his free hand. 

Iwaizumi works Oikawa’s cock in rhythm with his thrusts, and their conversation dies out, replaced by soft noises and the slide of their skin against one another’s. Iwaizumi works Oikawa faster and faster, feeling the erratic jump of his heart as Oikawa gets close. 

Oikawa grabs at Iwaizumi’s arm, nails digging into Iwaizumi’s skin as he comes with a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut as Iwaizumi catches his release in one hand. Iwaizumi keeps moving against him, his rhythm growing more and more offbeat the closer he gets to the edge, surrounded by the softness of Oikawa’s skin and the smell of his shampoo as Iwaizumi presses his nose into Oikawa’s hair. 

Iwaizumi comes a moment later, his come adding to the mess he’s already made of Oikawa’s legs. Oikawa groans as Iwaizumi pulls away from him, but Iwaizumi leans in to press a kiss to each of Oikawa’s flushed cheeks before he gets up.

He washes up and then returns with a warm, damp washcloth to clean Oikawa off. Oikawa can barely keep his eyes open, reaching out for Iwaizumi with heavy arms as soon as Iwaizumi as pulls back the covers and slips into bed.

He pulls Oikawa in close, his back to Iwaizumi’s chest, their legs intertwined. He feels heavy and sated, still conscious enough to press open-mouthed kisses to the back of Oikawa’s neck and shoulders. 

“Mm,” Oikawa complains half-heartedly, “Sleep now.”

“Were you at work late?” Iwaizumi asks, trying to remember he the last time he’d seen Oikawa this tired.

“New client,” Oikawa says. “We’re wooing him. Or I am.”

“You’re becoming the star associate in that place, aren’t you?” Iwaizumi grins, lets the pride sound in his voice.

“Something like that,” Oikawa says tiredly. He doesn’t sound proud at all, but Iwaizumi chalks that up to fatigue. 

He reaches over to shut off the lights, then pulls Oikawa close once more.

—

The cafeteria is relatively quiet when Iwaizumi arrives for his lunch break. Nurse Terushima is nowhere to be seen, and neither is the small group of surgical interns who’ve taken to following Iwaizumi nearly everywhere. He smirks at the thought, then crosses the room in quick strides when he spots a familiar head of silvery hair.

“Hey, Suga,” he says, pulling out a chair. 

“You’ve got a spring in your step today,” Sugawara Koushi replies, looking up from his bowl of noodles. His eyes narrow for a moment, and then he grins wryly at Iwaizumi. “Was Oikawa-san home last night, then?”

“I’m not sure I like that look on your face,” Iwaizumi says, placing his bento on the table and unwrapping the handkerchief around it. “And anyway, I— oh.” He breaks off suddenly, looking towards the door.

“Matsukawa, over here! Come join us.” 

The man he’s spotted is a tall, lanky doctor with a sleepy expression. His dark hair curls over his ears, and when he looks towards Iwaizumi he smiles easily. Still, there’s a latent shyness about the way he approaches, taking in the entirety of the cafeteria through his heavily-lidded eyes like he’s cataloguing each person and thing. Iwaizumi can’t entirely blame Matsukawa, who just started working at the hospital last week. It took Iwaizumi much longer to find his bearings. 

“Suga, this is Matsukawa. He’s an anesthesiologist.” Iwaizumi pulls out a chair for Matsukawa as he speaks. “Matsukawa, this is Sugawara.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Suga says with a smile. After he and Matsukawa finish their introductions, he turns back to Iwaizumi. “And look at you, so friendly and welcoming! It’s almost like you’re at home here, now.” 

Iwaizumi shrugs, pausing between mouthfuls of tofu and rice. “Something like that,” he admits. 

“Oh, Iwaizumi here is the king of the surgery wing,” Matsukawa puts in with a laugh. “You should see the other residents I’m with, fighting for the chance to work with him.”

“It’s just because my handwriting is more legible than some of the other doctors’,” Iwaizumi grumbles. He doesn’t mind being praised, but something about the way Matsukawa speaks makes him feel as though he’s being made fun of. 

Matsukawa grins and loops an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “It’s okay. Just keep playing favorites and picking me, alright?” 

“Don’t do that,” Suga warns him. “Iwaizumi’s always picking up other people’s night shifts. He’ll ruin your social life.” 

Matsukawa sighs mournfully. “There’s not much to ruin. I can’t remember the last time I was out on a date, honestly.” 

“Oh?” Sugawara’s eyes light up with a thought. 

Iwaizumi wonders if he attracts meddlesome people, somehow.

“Don’t you start,” he warns Sugawara.

—

The bakery is charming and easy to find, on the corner of two major pedestrian streets and sporting a turquoise and white sign on its awning. Inside, the furniture is all white wicker. Iwaizumi sits on a chair out on the patio, Sugawara and Sawamura Daichi seated across from him. Iwaizumi’s met Sawamura more than a dozen times, by this point, and he’s just as easy to get along with as Suga is. Still, that doesn’t make the presence of the empty chair beside him any less noticeable. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, checking his watch for the fourth time in fifteen minutes, “He’ll be here.” 

“Ah, Sugawara-san?” A voice asks from behind them, and the three men turn to see a short man in one of Datekou’s signature turquoise aprons. His dark hair is parted down the middle, and his round cheeks sport a natural rosiness. “Are you ready for the first round, yet?”

“Sorry, Sakunami-kun,” Suga says. “We’re still waiting on one more person.” 

“No problem!” Sakunami chirps. “Aone-san just took the first few cakes out of the oven, so we’ll keep them warm until you’re ready!”

He’s about to turn back to the kitchen when the bell above the door jingles, heralding a new arrival. Oikawa steps into the bakery still in his work clothes— a black suit, today, which makes him look sterner than usual. He glances around for a moment before he finally spots Iwaizumi and the others, then crosses the room towards them. He has his cellphone balanced between his shoulder and ear, and as he walks he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“No, I told you I can’t today,” he says, sounding harassed. “Because I _can’t_ , it’s been on the calendar for two weeks, can’t you find someone else to—” He sighs heavily, listening to whatever’s being said on the other end of the call. 

“Yes,” he says finally. “I understand. That’s fine.”

He hangs up the call and pushes his phone into the pocket of his pants, finally turning to the table where Iwaizumi and the others are seated. 

“Doctor Refreshing,” he says with a grin, “And Sawamura-kun. How goes the search for the world’s best wedding cake?” 

“It’s waiting on you, dumbass,” Iwaizumi mutters at him, reaching around the table to grab Oikawa’s wrist and tug him towards the empty chair beside him. Oikawa follows along willingly, leaning in at the last minute to plant a habitual kiss on Iwaizumi’s cheek. But even in doing that he seems distracted, turning away from the kiss as quickly as its begun. “What kept you?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Oikawa says dismissively. “Just a project at work that I can’t seem to shake. But enough about me! Sawamura-kun, you were saying you’re a fan of chocolate?” 

Sakunami returns a few moments later with their first round of cakes— small dishes topped with a sampling of different frostings, in every variety of chocolate. The four men take turns with each of them, Sugawara and Sawamura reaching over to feed each other bits off their own spoons. Suga giggles when Sawamura smudges frosting over his nose, and Sawamura grins at him in return. 

“Honestly, you two, save some of this for the actual wedding,” Oikawa starts, but then his gaze catches on someone passing by through the window and he trails off. 

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, trying to follow his husband’s line of sight. He doesn’t notice anyone familiar. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” Oikawa says airily, lifting his chin. He taps his spoon against the table a few times for effect. “Let them eat cake, isn’t that right? That’s what we should be focused on!” 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, elbowing Oikawa in the side. “You’d definitely give Marie Antoinette a run for her money.” 

—

That night, Iwaizumi and Oikawa sit snuggled together on the couch. Oikawa has his knees drawn up to his chest, glasses perched on his nose as he flips through a case file. It’s one of a half-dozen folders he’d brought home with him.

Iwaizumi leans into his side, the medical journal he’d been reading discarded on the end table beside them. “Are you going to tell me about this new client?” he asks.

Oikawa sighs, flipping through another page. “He’s not technically a client, yet.”

“He?” 

“It. Them. Whatever.” Oikawa waves an idle hand. “The Shiratorizawa Corporation.” 

Iwaizumi whistles low. “That huge conglomerate? That’s pretty impressive.” 

Oikawa clicks his tongue. “Yep.” 

Iwaizumi frowns slightly. Oikawa’s usually much more forthcoming about new clients, eager to show off how much business he’s bringing to his firm. Everyone’s heard the name Shiratorizawa, before— their CEO’s been featured in magazines, one of those top thirty under thirty types. Iwaizumi, who only barely pays attention to those sorts of things and mostly hears about them secondhand from Oikawa, can’t think of the CEO’s name. 

“It seems like it’d be hard work, with such a big client,” Iwaizumi says, brushing his fingers through Oikawa’s hair. 

“Not-yet client,” Oikawa reminds him, stifling a yawn behind his hand. 

“Either way,” Iwaizumi says. “No wonder you’ve been so stressed.” 

Oikawa manages to read for another few minutes before he starts nodding off against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi grabs the case file from his hands, shutting it softly and placing it on the end table. 

“Come on,” he says, “Let’s get to bed.” 

Oikawa whines, reaching up with both hands. “Iwa-chan, carry me?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You wish,” he says. But he reaches down and hooks one arm under Oikawa’s knees and the other around his shoulders so that he can hoist him up. “So spoiled,” he mutters, as Oikawa curls toward him. But the words are said with nothing but fondness. 

—

“I can’t really imagine Oikawa-san sleepy,” Suga says the next morning, holding his mug of coffee in both hands. “He always seems very alert, you know?” 

“You mean he always looks like he’s trying to read your mind,” Iwaizumi mutters, taking a sip of his own coffee. He chokes on it, scowling down at his mug. “This shit is terrible. How do you drink this?”

“Force of habit,” Suga says mournfully, tipping his mug to gulp down the rest. 

“It’s not so bad,” Matsukawa says, though his own mug sits cooling a full six inches away from him on the table. “It’ll keep the hospital in business, at least, if this stuff keeps almost killing people.” 

All three of them wrinkle their noses at the same time, and then Iwaizumi pushes away his mug with a sigh. 

“Anyway, it’s not just that he’s tired. He’s distracted all the time, and stressed. I just wish I could do something for him. He does so much for me, you know?”

Suga laughs, reaching over to pinch Iwaizumi’s cheek. “Oh my god, you two are so in love. Lesser men would be annoyed by this.” 

Iwaizumi bats him away. “Can you even talk? You’re planning a _wedding_.” 

Suga shrugs him off. “Shh, I’m trying to help you. Maybe just think about what Oikawa-san does that you appreciate, and try and do the same for him. You know, reciprocate.” 

“Or just offer him a blowjob,” Matsukawa puts in, waggling his formidable brows when Suga shoots him a glare. “What? The two of you are in committed, ’til-death-do-you-part relationships. If I can’t speculate about your sex lives, what joy is there left to me in this world?” 

“I am going to find you a date!” Suga reminds him. 

“In between planning your wedding,” Matsukawa reminds him. “Which means I’ll probably be showing up alone to the event of the year.” He speaks in a low, even-toned voice, his mockery just as easily turned on himself as others. 

“You know,” Iwaizumi interrupts, “that isn’t such a bad idea.”

“A blowjob is never a bad idea,” Matsukawa reminds him sagely. 

“Not that,” Iwaizumi says flatly. 

—

Kitagawa Daiichi is one of the premier law firms in the country. Its main headquarters is in an impressive-looking building downtown, the firm’s name set in thick serif font above the reception desk. Oikawa’s been an associate at the firm for three years, now, and has worked at this downtown office for half that time. But this is the first time Iwaizumi has visited him at work. 

He leaves his name with the receptionist and sits in the lobby, waiting for Oikawa to come fetch him and show him around. Oikawa’s always had a flare for expensive, impressive places, and it’s very clear why he fits in so well here. Kitaiichi’s logo is pressed in navy ink into their stationary and business cards, and there’s an elaborate coffee stand in the lobby for their visitors. 

Iwaizumi’s waiting for fifteen minutes when he sees the elevator doors open, revealing a tall attorney in a well-pressed suit. But disappointingly, that attorney is not Iwaizumi’s husband.

His hair is pinkish brown, cut close. He has his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his navy suit jacket tossed over one shoulder. There’s a casual air about him, even as he comes across the lobby with quick efficiency. 

“Iwaizumi-san?” he asks, quirking a brow at Iwaizumi. 

“That’s right,” Iwaizumi says, getting to his feet. “And you are?”

“Hanamaki Takahiro,” the man introduces himself. “I work with Oikawa. Should we head upstairs?” 

Iwaizumi follows Hanamaki to the elevators, and waits for him to slide his keycard and tap them up to the fifteenth floor. He walks Iwaizumi past a series of desks and cubicles, turning his head slightly to give him a grin.

“So, you’re the husband?” 

“That’s right,” Iwaizumi says, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. “Look, if Oikawa’s busy, this wasn’t urgent—”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Hanamaki assures him. But the laugh that accompanies his words sounds slightly off-key. “Our illustrious Oikawa-san is just in a meeting. I’ll take you to his office, and you can wait for him there.” 

He walks past another section of desks, reaching out to tap a dark-haired man on the shoulder as he passes by his desk. “Eyes open, Kunimi. Can we at least pretend like we’re working?”

Kunimi scowls at him, rubbing at his eyes. “Whatever,” he mumbles.

At the desk across from him, another man in a full suit types furiously at his computer. He wears a ferocious scowl, only looking up with Hanamaki flicks him on the forehead. 

“Kageyama, on the other hand, could definitely stand to chill out a bit,” Hanmaki says to Iwaizumi as they round another corner. 

Finally, they come to a door affixed with a fancy wooden nameplate— _Oikawa Tooru_.

“Well, here we are,” Hanamaki says, opening the door. “I’ve gotta get back to work, but you can wait in here until Oikawa comes by. I’d offer you some coffee, or something, but if you didn’t take advantage of the French press downstairs you’re probably a lost cause anyway.”

“Um. Okay?” Iwaizumi says. 

Hanamaki beams at him, waving goodbye. “See ya.” 

He’s off in another blur of activity, leaving Iwaizumi to step into Oikawa’s office and let the door swing shut behind him. 

It’s a nice office, reflecting the success Oikawa’s had since he started working here. A large blackwood desk sits in one corner, a gleaming silver desktop set on it. There’s a window that takes up all of one wall, providing a magnificent view of the city below even through half-closed blinds. Another wall is all bookshelves stacked with different law texts. 

But as Iwaizumi glances around, he frowns. The office isn’t lacking in personal effects— there’s a picture of Oikawa with a group of his friends from law school framed on the desk, and a small silver spaceship that hovers in midair between two magnets. Another photo, of Oikawa’s sister and nephew, takes up space in the bookshelf. Oikawa’s fingerprints are all over this office, in different ways. 

But there isn’t a single picture of Iwaizumi here. It might just be coincidence, but as Iwaizumi looks for himself around the office and finds nothing, he’s struck with a sudden and confusing hurt. 

The door bursts open again and suddenly Oikawa is in the office, setting down a mountain of files as he calls out, “Iwa-chan!” He speeds around the room for a moment, pulling off his suit jacket and draping it over the back of his chair, then wiggling the mouse of his computer to wake it up, then pulling up the blinds from half the window. “What are you doing here? Should we go?”

Iwaizumi blinks at him, trying get a lock on this man who’s fluttering from place to place like a hummingbird. “Where do we have to go?” 

Oikawa finally pauses, laughter bubbling out of him. “Well, I don’t know. I just figured if you showed up here, you wanted to take me to lunch.” 

That had, in fact, been Iwaizumi’s intention. He’s never happier than on days when Oikawa manages to surprise him for lunch, giving them some extra time together within the confines of their busy schedules. But now that he’s here, he’s less certain. 

“Well,” he says, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, “We don’t have to.” 

Oikawa laughs again, tilting his head to give Iwaizumi a searching look. “Of course we do. I _want_ to. You just— surprised me, that’s all.” 

He’s talking too much with his hands, a nervous habit. Iwaizumi focuses on those long, slim fingers that he knows so well, and that’s when he realizes what seems off. 

“Are you not— where’s your ring?” he asks. 

Oikawa freezes. “It’s in my desk drawer,” he tells Iwaizumi almost immediately. “I didn’t lose it.” 

“But you’re not wearing it.” Iwaizumi’s brow furrows as he tries to get over the sense of cognitive dissonance. He and Oikawa haven’t been married for all that long, but it’s still bizarre to see him without the familiar glint of silver on his finger.

“You don’t wear yours at work either, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa trills, flashing a smile that is one hundred percent false. 

Iwaizumi’s heart plummets to his stomach, leaving room behind for anger. “Yes,” he growls, “I _do_.” He tugs the silver chain from under his shirt collar, waving the ring in Oikawa’s face. “I never take it off. You know that.” 

“Can we not talk about this right now,” Oikawa says, very quickly. “Come on, let’s just go to lunch—”

“No,” Iwaizumi says. “Why don’t you have a good answer, for this? Why don’t you wear your ring while you’re working?” 

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa looks away from him, blinking his eyes closed slowly. “Please, let’s not fight, right now.”

“I’m not fighting with you,” Iwaizumi says stubbornly. “I’m just asking you a question. One that shouldn’t be that hard.” 

“I have to work.” Oikawa looks up at him, finally, but his eyes have gone cold and distant. Iwaizumi is used to finding that look attractive, but not when it’s directed at him. It’s evidence of Oikawa’s ruthlessness and determination, but his more manipulative side is something he doesn’t often need to deploy against Iwaizumi. “Look, you just caught me off guard. You’ve got Friday afternoon off, too, right? Why don’t we do lunch then?” 

Iwaizumi is left with the uncomfortable feeling that he’s being handled, that Oikawa is stalling him. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet.

“Fine. Whatever.” 

—

Iwaizumi walks home, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His footsteps land heavily against the sidewalk, but he’s too lost in thought to really notice.

Oikawa has always seemed like the clingy one in their relationship. Even back in high school, before they’d gotten together, Oikawa was always draping himself all over Iwaizumi, getting up in his personal space and laughing it off when Iwaizumi commented on it. When they’d actually gotten together, in college, Oikawa had become exactly the kind of overly-affectionate partner that Iwaizumi always imagined he’d be. Oikawa’s the one who insists on a kiss good morning and a kiss goodnight, the one who always sticks close by Iwaizumi’s side.

But, is that really true? Iwaizumi is also constantly reaching out, grabbing Oikawa and pulling him close. He’s always seen himself as Oikawa’s anchor, but doesn’t that mean that he’s the one holding on? 

Iwaizumi stops on the sidewalk, running both hands through his hair. Is _he_ actually the clingy one? He doesn’t know if he can be comfortable with that, the tables of his life turning over so spectacularly. He certainly doesn’t like it. 

And now he has to deal with the unsettling reality that he and Oikawa are on the verge of a fight. They’ve fought before, of course. The entire tenor of their relationship is a pattern of Oikawa’s teasing and Iwaizumi’s insults, but those things never really scratch beneath the surface. When they have fought, Oikawa goes quiet and pulls away, and Iwaizumi’s temper is explosive. But Iwaizumi’s anger always fades quickly, while Oikawa’s hardens into grudges.

The last time they had fought, _really_ fought, it had been during one of the worst years of both of their lives. And Iwaizumi is eager to never repeat that year, ever again. 

But he can’t get over the empty space on Oikawa’s finger, where his wedding ring should have been.

—

He’s already in bed when Oikawa returns home. Iwaizumi had remembered, vaguely, that Oikawa had a business dinner and said he’d be home late. But that doesn’t make it any better when he pulls on his flannel pajama bottoms and crawls under the covers alone. 

Oikawa’s careful not to make any noise when he enters the bedroom, and with the lights off he probably doesn’t even realize that Iwaizumi is still awake. He bypasses the bed for the walk-in closet, shedding his suit and pulling on the loose t-shirt he wears over his boxers for bed. He pauses for a few minutes in the bathroom to brush his teeth and go through his skin care regimen, and then he’s pulling back the covers and getting into bed.

He pushes himself close to Iwaizumi’s back, leaning over to gently kiss Iwaizumi’s cheek. 

“Please don’t be mad at me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers. 

Iwaizumi sighs. “I’m not.”

As he says it, he realizes it’s true. It takes an immense amount of effort for him to stay angry with Oikawa, and he just doesn’t have the energy or the desire, right now. He’s confused, and hurt beneath that, but neither of those emotions is anger. Mostly, he wants reassurance.

“Come here,” he says in a gravelly tone, reaching out to pull Oikawa close. Oikawa breathes out a sigh of relief and comes willingly, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi and pressing his face into Iwaizumi’s neck. 

Iwaizumi returns the embrace, and they fall asleep like that, entangled and close. But their heartbeats aren’t in time like they usually are.

—

Their apartment isn’t very large, and when Iwaizumi’s cooking enough for four people it seems even smaller, every surface of their kitchen covered with ingredients and half-made dishes. Iwaizumi rushes between the fridge and the stove, an apron bound around his waist. 

Oikawa’s sitting at the kitchen table. He’s supposed to be chopping vegetables for the omelets, but what he’s really doing is texting with a chopping board and a still-intact pepper in front of him. 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes when he sees the state of the pepper, yanking the chopping board over to a free slot on the table so he can quickly dice up the vegetables himself.

“Who the fuck do you keep texting?” he grouses, gathering up his handiwork and rushing back to the stove. 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says distractedly. “He’s babysitting the company that one of our clients is looking to acquire.” 

Iwaizumi frowns, moving the diced vegetables around with a spatula. “So maybe let him do that, and you can act like you actually want to be here.” 

Oikawa finally looks up, blinking owlishly at him. “Of course I want to be here. Where else would I be?”

That is the question, Iwaizumi thinks darkly. But he’s spared from voicing that thought aloud, because the doorbell sounds at that moment. Iwaizumi turns off the heat on the stove, brushing his hands off against his apron. 

“They’re here,” he says, heading for the front door. “And for fuck’s sake, put the phone away!” 

Sawamura and Sugawara are all smiles when they arrive— they’ve brought fresh-cut hydrangeas, which Oikawa takes from Suga with a smile. They reappear on the table a few minutes later, artfully arranged in a vase that Iwaizumi didn’t even know they owned. 

“Oh, wow, Iwaizumi,” Sawamura says. “Did you cook all this?” 

“It’s no big deal,” Iwaizumi says, although the plates of French toast, omelets, cut fruit and breakfast potatoes say otherwise. “Come on, let’s eat.” 

The four of them take their seats around the table, and Sugawara digs into his omelet with gusto while Sawamura takes the lead on conversation, updating them on all the wedding plans and his work. 

“How’s the new company shaping up?” Iwaizumi asks between bites. 

Sawamura smiles sheepishly. “Still more of a pipe dream than an actual company. It’s not that I don’t like where I’m at, but I think there’s a need that a new kind of consulting firm could fill—”

Iwaizumi stops listening when he catches a glimpse of light under the table. Oikawa has his phone balanced on his knee, texting when he thinks no one will notice. 

“Oikawa,” he says blandly. “Eat your French toast. It’s going to get cold.” 

“I am.” Oikawa pouts at him, shoving a too-large helping into his mouth just to prove the point. 

Iwaizumi just shakes his head and turns back to Sawamura. But only a few minutes later, he sees the phone lighting up under the table again. 

He kicks Oikawa under the table. “You’re being rude,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong with you?” 

But Oikawa’s barely listening, having pulled the phone up to his face and scanning whatever message he’s just gotten with dark, intent eyes. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, before turning back to their company. “Sorry, I have to go grab my laptop— take care of something for work—”

“That’s okay,” Suga says brightly. “Why don’t you go do that, we’ve got time—”

“ _Oikawa_ ,” Iwaizumi says from between his teeth. 

But Oikawa’s already jumping up from the table and rushing back towards the study.

—

Oikawa isn’t gone all that long, and when he returns things almost seem normal. The four of them eat their way through the mountain of food that Iwaizumi’s prepared, laughing and talking all the while. These regular brunches have become a nice habit— sometimes they go to Sugawara and Sawamura’s apartment, and sometimes out to a restaurant. Occasionally, Suga’s friends Azumane and Nishinoya join them. And Iwaizumi likes these days more than he lets on, because he’s surrounded by community and warmth, and it makes this place feel just a little bit more like home. 

So he swallows down his annoyance at Oikawa through the meal, and then the four of them get up to help carry all the dishes into the kitchen. Iwaizumi ends up back at the dining table before the others, on one trip, and spots Oikawa’s cellphone set on the table. It’s just lit up with a new notification. 

Iwaizumi isn’t as nosy as Oikawa, who has no compunctions about flipping through the entirety of Iwaizumi’s texts and emails and critiquing his use (or lack thereof) of emojis. Iwaizumi’s never been that interested in what’s going on Oikawa’s cellphone. So it’s an accident, really, when he glances over and reads the text. 

_Ushiwaka-chan (11:15): Dinner tomorrow, 7pm._

He doesn’t recognize the name. Oikawa’s always had the habit of giving everyone nicknames— more so when he thinks it’ll annoy them— but the fact that this Ushiwaka has never been mentioned raises Iwaizumi’s suspicions. There’s nothing all that odd about the text itself— Oikawa has meetings with clients over dinner at least three times a week. So really, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Except, if this is a client, why did they get a nickname? And if they’re close enough to Oikawa to warrant a nickname, why hasn’t Iwaizumi heard of them? And why are they texting Oikawa to set up a dinner date over the weekend? 

Stop it, Iwaizumi thinks furiously at himself. There’s no reason to think like this. There’s no reason to doubt Oikawa, even though he’s been distracted and shifty for weeks, now. 

But even as Iwaizumi turns away from the phone and picks up the last round of dishes, he isn’t convinced. He’d never believe that Oikawa would do something to jeopardize their marriage, not in a million years. Even when he’s not sure of himself, he can be sure of Oikawa. But Oikawa is keeping _something_ from him, and that fact is more worrying than whatever that something could end up being. 

He and Oikawa don’t have secrets. The last time Oikawa had tried to keep something from him, it had been a sign that something was very, very wrong. And so Iwaizumi needs to figure out what’s wrong, and fix it before things get any worse.

—

After Suga and Sawamura have left, Iwaizumi and Oikawa stand in the kitchen. Iwaizumi washes the dishes in the sink, while Oikawa dries them and puts them away. Oikawa is chattering on about something, but Iwaizumi can’t offer him even half of his attention. He’s too busy overanalyzing Oikawa’s behavior, and trying to think of a way to shock him into telling the truth. 

“Oikawa.”

“Yes?” Oikawa says, trailing off mid-sentence. 

“Are you cheating on me?” 

“ _What_?” Oikawa shrieks, dropping the plate he’d been drying. It isn’t porcelain, and doesn’t crack when it hits the tiled floor. Still, the noise it makes is enough to shock Iwaizumi back to himself. “Why would you even think that?” 

Oikawa’s cheeks are red, and he looks surprised and angry and hurt, his dark eyes flashing as he stares at Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi immediately regrets his phrasing, but he holds firm. He lifts his chin and meets Oikawa’s incensed stare. “You’ve been distant with me, and you’re distracted all the time, and getting texts from who knows—”

Oikawa growls, low in his throat. He grabs Iwaizumi by the collar of his shirt, moving so quickly that Iwaizumi barely realizes he’s moving until Oikawa has him backed up against the wall opposite the sink. Oikawa spends so much time singing odes to Iwaizumi’s physique that it’s sometimes easy to forget how strong Oikawa is, himself. 

The kiss is powerful and biting. Oikawa shoves Iwaizumi roughly into the wall, attacking his lips with tongue and teeth. Iwaizumi knows every way that Oikawa can kiss him, but this one hasn’t made an appearance in a while. He moans softly, lips parting to allow Oikawa to lick into his mouth. They get lost in the moment, Iwaizumi reaching up to brace his hands against Oikawa’s shoulders, pulling him closer. 

He’s so caught up in the fire behind Oikawa’s kisses that he doesn’t notice how much is wrong until he tastes salt on his tongue. 

“Tooru,” he says softly, reaching up to brush away Oikawa’s tears. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” 

Oikawa shakes his head, leaning back into the kiss. But Iwaizumi shifts at the last minute, pulling Oikawa’s head down until its resting against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi brushes his fingers through Oikawa’s hair.

“What’s hurting you?” he asks roughly. “Tell me. I’ll hurt it back.” 

Oikawa hiccups around a laugh, squeezing his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist. “You have to let me fight my own battles, Hajime.” 

“Why?” Iwaizumi grumbles. Ever since they were children, he’s wanted to protect Oikawa, to ensure his happiness. The idea that there’s something hurting Oikawa that he can’t help, that he can’t even know about, sets his every instinct on edge. “Tooru, I—” 

“No, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. He tilts his head up to kiss Iwaizumi’s cheeks. “Just trust me, okay?”

Iwaizumi huffs. “You know I do. I didn’t even mean what I said earlier.”

Oikawa hums, nuzzling into Iwaizumi’s neck. “I know.” 

But that’s not good enough. And Oikawa never answered Iwaizumi’s question.

—

He’s distracted over the next few days. While it’s easy enough to push his personal troubles from his mind when he’s in the operating room or with a patient, it all comes rushing back the moment Iwaizumi has a moment to himself.

Iwaizumi looks up as Sugawara sets a covered coffee cup down in front of him, the white paper marked with Datekou Bakery’s distinctive logo. 

“You went out and bought us good coffee,” Iwaizumi says, a little puzzled.

Suga grins at him. “You looked like you could use it.” He takes a seat beside Iwaizumi, sipping from his own cup. “Honestly, I’m a little worried. I was about to sic Kuroo on you.” 

Iwaizumi frowns at him. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink.” 

“You sure about that?”

It’s hard to keep up a front in the face of Suga’s steely gaze, even offset by his friendly smile and soothing presence. Iwaizumi sighs.

“No. I’m not.” 

“Hmm.” Suga leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling instead of at Iwaizumi. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Iwaizumi is silent for a long moment, sipping at his coffee and scowling down at the tiled floor. 

“Oikawa goes quiet about things when he’s really worried about them.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “You wouldn’t think it, given how much he whines about superficial stuff, but if it’s something serious he’ll totally clam up.”

“And he’s doing that now?” Sugawara prompts. 

Iwaizumi nods. “The last time he was like this, I didn’t see it until it was too late. I’m supposed to be the person who knows him best, who can figure him out even when no one else can, or when he’s purposefully trying to hide something. But I didn’t see it.” 

“What happened?”

Iwaizumi squints his eyes closed, pained at remembering. “We both played volleyball in college— had been playing our entire lives, up until that point. And Oikawa, he was amazing. He was supposed to go pro. We both might’ve made it, actually. But Oikawa— it was like he was made to be a star on the court. He worked so hard, put his everything into it.” 

He intakes a shaky breath. “But something was eating him up inside. It had been, since we’d gotten to college, but I was too caught up in other things to notice. And Oikawa, he projects. He threw himself into practice, to ignore what was bothering him, and he didn’t listen to his coaches or to me when we told him he was pushing things too far. He ended up blowing out his knee in our third year.” 

“Ah,” Suga says softly. “I’ve been wondering how he hurt it, in the first place.” 

The statement doesn’t make sense, until Iwaizumi remembers that Sugawara is Oikawa’s primary care physician. Of course he’d know about Oikawa’s knee. 

“If he’s upset about something, it’s going to snap back and hurt him in the end,” Iwaizumi says, chin in his hands. “I can’t let him do that again. I can’t watch him hurt himself again.” 

Suga pats his hand against Iwaizumi’s back, settling it there to offer comfort. “It’ll be okay, Iwaizumi. If anyone can help him through whatever’s going on, it’s you.”

—

The lights are on when Iwaizumi pushes open the door to the apartment. He pulls off his shoes and puts away his keys, wandering into the living room in search of his husband. He finds Oikawa in the living room, curled up on the couch and sleeping lightly. There’s an open file spread out over his lap.

Iwaizumi grabs the file and shuts it, glowering down at the title tab— _Shiratorizawa Corp_. Shaking his head, Iwaizumi puts the file aside. Oikawa has yet to stir, so Iwaizumi reaches down to pull Oikawa up into his arms. He feels light as Iwaizumi lifts him, like he could blow away with the wind. The thought has Iwaizumi tightening his grip. 

As he walks Oikawa towards their bedroom, Oikawa’s eyes flutter open halfway. He looks around for a moment before his eyes lock on Iwaizumi’s face. 

“Mm. Iwa-chan?” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. 

“What is it?” 

“Mom called,” Oikawa says around a yawn. “You should ring her back when you have the chance, she wanted to talk to you too.” 

Iwaizumi nods as he sets Oikawa down on their bed. “I will,” he promises. 

He’s always felt that Oikawa’s mother is a member of his family, along with his father and sister and nephew and brother-in-law. Even before he and Oikawa were married, the Oikawa family has always made an effort to be close to Iwaizumi. And he appreciates it, especially now that he knows not to expect any calls from his own mother. 

Oikawa knows that, of course. He never refers to his mother as “my mom,” instead giving her the title as if it links her equally to both of them. 

Iwaizumi sighs as he changes into his pajamas, walking back to the bed a moment later to find Oikawa curled into a ball on top of the covers, already half asleep again. Iwaizumi brushes the hair away from Oikawa’s face, studying his features for a moment. 

“Tooru,” he says, “You’d tell me if you needed me, right?” 

Oikawa looks up at him quizzically. “That’s a stupid question, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi grumbles. “How’d you figure that?” 

Oikawa laughs at him. “Because I always need you, Hajime.” He spreads his arms to either side of himself, inviting Iwaizumi into his embrace. And Iwaizumi goes willingly, hopeless in the face of this beautiful, amazing person he’s built a life with. 

He crowds in close to Oikawa, the thought of needing and being needed lighting a fire within him. It’s dark and possessive, a side of himself that he’d thought would abate the longer he was with Oikawa. But now it seems like the opposite has happened, and he wants to consume Oikawa as much as he did the first time he had him laid out in bed like this, or maybe even more.

Iwaizumi tightens his hold on Oikawa, pressing him down against their mattress. Oikawa lets himself tilt onto his back, looking up at Iwaizumi with half-lidded eyes. 

“I love you, Hajime,” Oikawa says softly, just before Iwaizumi captures his lips in a kiss. After that, they aren’t talking much at all. 

—

For a few days after that, things are almost normal. He and Oikawa have breakfast together when they can, and dinner together when they can, and Oikawa even stops by the hospital one afternoon to take Iwaizumi out to lunch. At night, they sleep wrapped around each other, as if they subconsciously fear any empty space coming between them. And so, for those few days, Iwaizumi can convince himself that things have blown over. 

Then, he comes home from an overnight shift one morning to find that Oikawa hasn’t left for work, yet. He’s sitting in the living room, his suit jacket shed over one the back of the couch and his laptop perched on his knees in front of him. He has his cellphone balanced against one ear, and he’s nodding and making vaguely affirmative noises at whatever he’s being said to him on the other end of the line. 

He doesn’t look up when Iwaizumi enters the apartment; it seems like he doesn’t even notice Iwaizumi is there. Because Oikawa looks far from normal, in this moment. His face is pale and drawn, sweat beading down his brow as he bites down on his lower lip and nods his head. When he squints his eyes shut, hot tears drip down his cheeks. 

Iwaizumi freezes in the doorway as Oikawa ends the call tossing his cellphone onto the couch as he presses the heals of his hands into his eyes. He curls in on himself, rocking back and forth slowly. 

“What am I going to do,” Oikawa mutters frantically to himself. “I can’t tell him, I can’t tell him…” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t wait to hear any more. He steps into the room, rushing to Oikawa’s side and grabbing his wrists, pulling them away from his face so that he can get a better look at Oikawa’s expression.

Oikawa’s eyes are wide and glassy when they come to focus on Iwaizumi. He bites down on his lower lip and shudders. 

“What can’t you tell me?” Iwaizumi asks, trying to keep his voice low despite the panic rising in him at the sight of Oikawa like this. 

Oikawa just shakes his head. And before Iwaizumi can say anything else, Oikawa’s cellphone lights up beside them. Oikawa snatches it up before Iwaizumi can reach for it, pressing it on and pinching his nose for a moment before answering. 

“This is Oikawa Tooru,” he says, and it’s amazing how steady his voice sounds, how normal he can seem when he’s in the middle of panicking. He nods along to whatever’s being said on the other end of the line. “Yes, that’s fine. I’m running a little behind, but I’ll be at my office in half an hour.”

After a few more moments, he ends the call and sets his phone aside. He lets out a shuddering sigh and buries his head in his hands, not even looking up when Iwaizumi reaches out to run his hands along the length of Oikawa’s arms. 

“Oikawa,” he says softly. “Skip work today. Don’t go.” 

“I can’t,” Oikawa says hoarsely. 

“You’re in no state to go to work,” Iwaizumi tells him. “And if whatever you’re working on is causing you this much stress, you shouldn’t be doing it at all!” 

“I have to go,” Oikawa says numbly, getting to his feet. “That was Ushiwa— Ushijima-san. He wants to meet this afternoon to sign some final contracts.” 

“Will you at least tell me what’s wrong?” 

Oikawa sucks in a shaky breath, running his fingers through his hair as he smooths down his shirt. “Later, Iwa-chan. I really have to go.”

And there’s really nothing Iwaizumi can do to stop him.

—

Iwaizumi sleeps fitfully. He’s always had trouble sleeping after overnight shifts, the bed cold and empty without Oikawa beside him. Not even the blackout curtains can convince Iwaizumi’s body that it’s the proper time to sleep, and he ends up tossing and turning no matter how tired he is.

But now, it’s worse. Every time he closes his eyes he sees a demon with glinting eyes looming over him. Some part of his consciousness recognizes this demon as Ushijima-san, the formidable CEO who’s causing him so much trouble, indirectly. Iwaizumi doesn’t even have a face to put to the name, but his mind concocts a suitably terrifying image. 

He’s expected back at the hospital in the early evening, so eventually Iwaizumi forces himself out of bed and into a cold shower. As he’s dressing for work, he keeps glancing back at his cellphone, but Oikawa hasn’t called. It’s too early for him to be home, and he doesn’t respond to Iwaizumi’s questioning text messages.

So he goes to work, and he frets. Halfway through his shift he has a break, and he sits down in the doctors’ lounge with his head in his hands, hoping to stop the viselike pain that’s settled around his skull. 

“You look truly awful, Iwaizumi,” a deep voice says. 

Iwaizumi looks up to see Matsukawa standing over him. He’s got the same bags under his eyes as Iwaizumi, after half a week of night shifts. He pushes Iwaizumi over on the couch and joins him, long legs spread out in front of him. 

“Things still going rough with your husband?” Matsukawa asks. 

Iwaizumi immediately scowls. “Things aren’t going rough _with_ him, they’re going rough _for_ him.” The former implies that there’s something wrong in the content of his relationship with Oikawa, which isn’t true. Iwaizumi refuses to believe that it’s true. 

“Okay,” Matsukawa says easily. “So if it’s not something that involves you, is there anything you can do to help?”

“That’s the problem,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “I don’t know.” 

Matsukawa hums thoughtfully. “You know, I’m probably not the best person to give advice about relationships, but I’m sure your man’s going to be just fine. Scary-looking as you are, Iwaizumi, I get the feeling that you’re a pretty good husband.” 

Iwaizumi isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean, but it sounds like a compliment. “Um. Thanks?” 

Matsukawa’s lips stretch into a thin, but not insincere smile. “You’re welcome. Look, you trust this guy of yours, right?” 

The answer comes easily. “I trust him with my life.” 

“See? There you go—”

But Iwaizumi isn’t done, and he continues, talking over Matsukawa. “Just not with his own.”

Matsukawa regards him thoughtfully. “Does he know that?” 

—

By the time Iwaizumi and Oikawa end up at home together at the same time, again, it’s been almost forty-eight hours since Oikawa left, insisting he had to go to work. But this time, Iwaizumi is prepared. He sits at the dining table, two steaming mugs in front of him, and waits until he hears Oikawa’s key turning in the lock. 

Oikawa walks in, his tall frame hunched over as he drops his computer case to the floor and shuffles out of his expensive dress shoes. He doesn’t register Iwaizumi’s presence until Iwaizumi calls out to him.

“Oikawa? Come here. We need to talk.” 

His socks scuffle along the flooring until Oikawa comes to stand in front of Iwaizumi. He looks so tired and drawn, and there’s nothing that his expensive suits and organic moisturizers and fake smiles can do to hide that fact. 

“Have a seat,” Iwaizumi days, nodding to the chair across from him. 

Oikawa is likely too tired to argue, because he pulls out the chair and lowers himself into it with almost painful delicacy. He’s not in any state to talk, right now. Which means he can listen, while Iwaizumi talks first. 

Iwaizumi pushes one mug of hot cocoa across the table towards Oikawa, who looks down at it for a moment before smiling softly. He wraps both his hands around it, warmth seeping into his cold fingers. 

“I want to talk about college,” Iwaizumi says, apropos of nothing.

Oikawa looks up, startled and a little panicked. It’s a period of his life that he hates talking about, years of promise dashed for reasons that Oikawa has always taken to be his own fault. But that’s not the way Iwaizumi sees it at all, and he wonders if he’s ever explicitly told Oikawa that. 

“Just listen,” Iwaizumi says softly. He pauses.

Eventually, Oikawa nods. And Iwaizumi takes that as his cue to begin. 

—

“Before we went away to college, everyone made jokes about how you were going to handle the separation. Of course, we’d always been neighbors and best friends, up until then. We went to all the same schools, for our entire lives. And so your mom and all our other friends and your sister and even Takeru kept poking at you, asking what you were going to do without me by your side.” 

Oikawa stares into his mug, lashes long against his pale cheeks. He doesn’t look up, though his shoulders hunch at this description of himself. 

“But they shouldn’t have just been worried about you,” Iwaizumi continues softly. “I mean, you’ll never hear me say this again, but I didn’t know what I was going to do without you, Tooru. And it confused me, how much I ached at the thought of you not being around. Because I knew that this was more than I should feel for a best friend, even one who’d been my shadow for a decade and a half.” 

“And we were living in the same city. We saw each other all the time, at least twice a week. You’d come over and spread your books all over the floor of my apartment, and tell me all about your school and your team and your new friends. And I was so, so proud of you.” 

A tear drips down Oikawa’s cheek, landing with a small splash in his mug. Iwaizumi’s fingers twitch at his sides, longing to reach over and rub away the trail of moisture on Oikawa’s face. But he sucks in a breath, and presses on. 

“You didn’t need me, at all,” Iwaizumi grumbles, still exasperated all these years later. “You were blooming without me by your side. Every time my college team played yours, I was convinced that I was finally going to be able to beat you. And I never managed it.” 

“And then, before I knew it, you’d started pulling away from me. Going into our third year, I saw you less and less. You kept putting me off, canceling plans. And at first, I was too hurt to really question why you were doing it. I didn’t come to the obvious conclusion, that you were avoiding me for a reason, that you were avoiding a lot of things, and throwing yourself into practice as a distraction.”

This is the part of the story that’s always hardest to hell, even though Oikawa already knows where it ends. Iwaizumi presses his lips together for a moment, then goes on.

“I didn’t realize it, until I got the call that you were in the hospital, that your knee had given out. And when I saw you there, I realized all the things I’d been feeling, probably for years at that point. It all hit me, and—”

He cuts himself off, because that isn’t what he wants to talk about. There’s something more important to say, at this moment. 

“Tooru,” he says, voice laden with regret. “How did you ever forgive me for not seeing it sooner? For not stopping you?” 

Oikawa finally looks up at him, lips pressed together into a thin, pale line. For a moment, they just look at each other, and then Oikawa loses his composure. He laughs, and then he starts crying in earnest. 

—

“Stupid Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, rubbing his hands over his face. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

Iwaizumi frowns at him. But he’s said his piece, so now he has to let Oikawa say his.

“You know how I am,” Oikawa says lightly. “I wasn’t blooming. I was a complete mess, for all of college. And I felt so broken and wrong inside, that I needed something to be perfect. But of course, I pushed too hard.”

He sniffles loudly. “I should back up. I’ve already told you this, but it sounds like you’ve forgotten. It was during our second year, right before exams. I fell asleep at your apartment when we were studying, one night. And when I woke up you had your fingers in my hair, and when I saw the way you were looking at me, I knew. I knew you loved me.” 

Iwaizumi frowns at him, because no matter how many times he hears that particular detail he can’t quite believe it. How could Oikawa have recognized his feelings so long before he’d realized them himself? When he was trying so hard to deny them? 

“And I couldn’t do that to you. If you knew I felt the same way, nothing would ever have stopped you from being with me. So I put space between us. I stopped responding to your messages. I threw myself into volleyball, because it was the only thing that made any sense.” 

Oikawa hiccups, laughing darkly at himself. “And then I screwed my knee, and I thought I’d lost everything.” 

Iwaizumi remembers how Oikawa looked that day, laying on his hospital bed. The bland white sheets washed him out, emphasizing the dark circles around his eyes. His expression was empty, his voice dark and self-mocking when he spoke. 

“And then,” Oikawa says around something that could either be a laugh or a sob, “You told me you loved me.” 

Not in so many words, Iwaizumi remembers. He’d waited for the nurse to give them privacy, and then he’d lunged across the room, hands grabbing at Oikawa’s shoulders. Oikawa had looked at him in shock, wincing like he expected to be hit. Instead, Iwaizumi had crashed their lips together, kissing Oikawa with an intensity that was far more honest than their relationship had been for months, by that point. 

“I still do,” Iwaizumi says with that same honesty. “I’m always going to.” 

“But you gave up your whole life for me!” Oikawa bangs both of his hands down on the table, jostling both mugs of cocoa. “You knew how your parents would react! Why do you think I didn’t tell you how I felt earlier? You lost your home, the minute you decided to be with me. And you walked away from volleyball, too, when you were definitely good enough to go pro. How could you do that, Iwa-chan? How could you do all that to yourself?” 

It’s an easy answer. “Because you were worth it,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You still are.” 

Oikawa smiles helplessly at him, but then his expression darkens. “You always do that. You make someone else’s pain your own, you never put yourself first. Even when you’re hurting.” 

Iwaizumi shrugs. That’s not the way he sees it, no matter how many times Oikawa tells him so. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says seriously, “Don’t give up another life for me. I’m not going to let you do that again.”

—

It takes a moment for what Oikawa’s said to register in Iwaizumi’s mind, for the words to all arrange themselves into the right order so that he can understand what his husband is telling him. 

“Wait a minute,” he growls, “Have you been stressed out because you think you’re protecting _me_ from something?” 

Oikawa flashes him one of the plastered-on smiles that Iwaizumi hates so much. But then Oikawa’s face falls, and he pushes his mug of cocoa away and lets his head falls against the table, chin pressed against the wood as he looks up at Iwaizumi. 

“I hate my job,” he confesses blandly. 

And now Iwaizumi is confused, because as far as he’s been aware Oikawa loves being a lawyer. He loves being able to manage people into getting what he wants, and loves turning on his hostile side to argue his way to victory when he needs to. He charms judges and opponents and clients, and gets the triumph of being told he’s right, more often than not. Iwaizumi doesn’t understand. 

“Well, not the job itself,” Oikawa admits. “Just. The way it is right now. You know the senior partner at Kitaiichi?” 

Iwaizumi nods, remembering a middle-aged man with dark hair and thin, wire-frame glasses. 

“He’s not a fan of anyone or anything that can’t be useful to him,” Oikawa goes on. “He memorizes everything about everyone, and tries to deploy those things to his best advantage. He’s an excellent lawyer, as a result.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. “And what does that have to do with you?”

Now, Oikawa frowns, eyes flashing with suppressed anger. “There’s a lot about me that can be useful to the firm. I know that, they know that. But I never expected them to— well, I _did_ , but not like this—”

He’s babbling, now, and Iwaizumi raises a hand to stop him. “Explain.”

Oikawa sighs. “The partner wants my… sexuality to be useful to the firm, as much as anything else. It started out small, you know? If a client sent their lady CEO or associate to us, they’d put me on the account to keep them happy. And I don’t mind that kind of thing— it’s not difficult to be charming in those situations.” 

Iwaizumi, who’s been watching Oikawa charm everyone around him since he was three years old, only nods.

“But then word got around that the Shiratorizawa Corporation was looking for new representation. And everyone at Kitaiichi jumped at the chance, because it’s probably the biggest account that anyone’s ever going to be able to bring in. So the partner did his typical recon, trying to figure out how to best charm Shiratorizawa, and he found out that their CEO, Ushijima Wakatoshi, is openly gay.” 

Immediately, Iwaizumi doesn’t like where this is going. “What did they tell you to do?”

“Nothing that bad,” Oikawa says. “They just put me in charge of wooing Ushiwaka and Shiratorizawa. Which meant not talking about the fact that I’m married, or wearing my wedding ring at work, or keeping fifteen different pictures of my husband in my office—”

“Wait. When you say they wanted you to _woo_ him—”

“Not like that,” Oikawa insists, waving both hands in front of his face. “Honestly, I’d slit my own throat before I’d ever even consider being with him. Or with anyone, other than you. But it’s all part of the game, don’t you see? They dangle me as bait, then they catch the big, stupid sea bass that is Ushiwaka.” 

“That’s fucked up,” Iwaizumi says, after a long pause.

Oikawa smiles thinly. “It’s the same thing young, female lawyers have been dealing with for years and years, now.”

“But you’re clearly miserable.”

Oikawa shrugs. “I… don’t mind the work. Shiratorizawa is large, complicated business that would involve mergers and acquisitions and all sorts of things I’d actually want to do. But the firm… they want me to be something I’m not, all the time. And I feel like I’m slipping up, more and more.” 

“I can’t say I really get it,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “It sounds like a lot of pretense.” 

“That’s because Iwa-chan’s very honest and simple,” Oikawa tuts at him.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It isn’t.” Oikawa smiles at him again, that tender and indulgent smile that only makes an appearance at Oikawa’s most honest moments. “It’s one of many things I love about you.” 

Iwaizumi frowns at him, but he knows his cheeks are red, by this point. “So what’s the solution?” he asks. “How do we make you happier?”

Oikawa frowns. “I could request an internal transfer. Kitaiichi’s got branches all over the country, and that’d get me away from this partner altogether. We’d have to move to another city.” 

That seems simple enough. “So let’s move.”

“ _No_.”

Oikawa speaks so forcefully that Iwaizumi leans back in his chair, away from him.

“No, Hajime,” Oikawa says again. “This is what I was talking about, before. You love it here. You love the hospital. And all your new friends. I’m not going to let you give all of that up.”

“But I would,” Iwaizumi says immediately. “I don’t care, I can’t let you carry on like this—”

“You’ve been so happy, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tells him. “Happier than you’ve been in years, probably. And I know you don’t like hearing it, but it takes you awhile to establish your comfort zone anywhere. I’m not going to be the reason you walk away from your happiness. I refuse.” 

Iwaizumi snarls at him. “ _You_ ’re my happiness.” 

Oikawa’s smiling at him, but his face is scrunched as he struggles not to cry. “And you think I want to be the reason you don’t have any happiness beyond me? You’ve supported me through every bad time in my life. I want us to start having something better than that, together.”

The shadow of Iwaizumi’s family hangs over them, unspoken. 

Iwaizumi presses his face into his hands, trying to think. “So then… quit.”

“My job?” Oikawa squeaks. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s not making you happy. Why would you stay with it?” 

“I couldn’t,” Oikawa says, looking down. “Could I?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I don’t know, Tooru. Could you?”

Oikawa frowns at him. “I don’t know. Anyone can switch firms, or start their own practice. But that doesn’t ensure success.”

Everything Oikawa’s ever done, he’s strived to be the best at. Failures always sit heavily on his shoulders, and through his warped perception he sees even second place as a failure. Kitagawa Daiichi is the most prominent law firm in the country. Working anywhere else could be viewed as second place. 

“You’re an amazing lawyer,” Iwaizumi tells him. “And you’re competent enough to be your own boss, and attract your own clients, your way. Why would you stick it out with these scumbags?” 

Oikawa lets out a breath. “I’d have to think about it,” he says finally. 

“We can keep discussing it,” Iwaizumi says. “But you’ve gotta know, I’m never going to want my happiness at the expense of yours. I’ve made you a lot of promises, and I intend to keep every one of them. I’m going to protect your happiness, Tooru.” 

Oikawa gets up from his chair, rushing around the table to throw his arms around Iwaizumi. “And I’m going to protect yours, Hajime,” he breaths, crawling into Iwaizumi’s lap, adjusting his long legs around the chair. “If anyone ever makes you unhappy, I’ll murder them.”

“Careful,” Iwaizumi says lightly. “You’re no expert in criminal defense.”

Oikawa’s laughter bubbles out of him as he kisses Iwaizumi’s forehead, and then the tip of his nose. He continues to laugh as he peppers kisses all over Iwaizumi’s face. Iwaizumi wraps his arms around Oikawa’s waist, laughing himself. The sound of their happiness fills the room, and Iwaizumi is sure it will continue to fill his heart until it bursts. 

—

Weeks later, Iwaizumi sits at Datekou Bakery across from Oikawa, carefully cutting his lunch into bite-sized pieces as he listens to Oikawa’s rambling. 

“The wedding is in three weeks, Iwa-chan, we have to get fitted this week! There’ll be no time left, otherwise.” Oikawa brandishes his fork in the air as he speaks, a conductor leading his orchestra to a crescendo. 

Iwaizumi frowns. “No one said we have to have new suits in the first place.”

“You’re in the wedding party, Iwa-chan! And you know Azumane-kun is going to look so dignified and tall, you can’t let him show you up. Have some pride.” 

“Fine, fine,” Iwaizumi says between bites. “Whatever you say.” 

“Yes.” Oikawa grins. “Whatever I say.” 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Poor Matsukawa. He really doesn’t want to show up to this wedding alone.” 

“You invited him over for brunch, right?” Oikawa asks insistently. 

“Yeah, just like you told me,” Iwaizumi reminds him.

“Because ‘whatever I say’ is our new motto!” Oikawa chirps. “But anyway, leave Matsukawa-kun’s love life to me. I’ll have more success than Doctor Refreshing, I promise.” 

“You really don’t need to get so competitive with Suga,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Especially when someone else’s life is at issue, here.”

“I’m not going to lose,” Oikawa insists. “To him, or anyone else—” The bell above the door rings, and Oikawa’s mouth drops open when he spots whoever’s just entered the bakery. 

“Don’t be gross,” Iwaizumi says, reaching across the table to tap Oikawa’s jaw shut. “What are you even looking at?” 

He needn’t have asked. Because as soon as the question leaves him, a shadow falls over their table, and Iwaizumi looks up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with a stern expression looming over them. His dark hair is neatly-styled, and his hard eyes shine a golden-green color that’s almost unreal. 

“Oikawa,” he says in a deep, staid voice. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“Ushijima,” Oikawa says, too surprised to adopt his usual lilt and teasing nicknames. 

Iwaizumi looks the man over once more. “You’re _him_?”

Ushijima frowns at him— or maybe that’s just his natural expression. “Ushijima Wakatoshi. And you are?”

“This is Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa says, before Iwaizumi can. “My husband.”

Ushijima nods, as though this is not at all unexpected. “I see.” He pauses for a moment and then says, to Oikawa, “I was sorry to hear you’d left Kitagawa Daiichi.” 

“I wasn’t,” Oikawa responds immediately. 

Ushijima considers this a moment, then nods. “Despite their reputation, I always found you to be a greater draw than the firm itself. I still think your talents would be an asset.” 

Iwaizumi frowns at this man, who speaks with such bland assurance. 

“I realize this isn’t the right time, but you should see our in-house counsel’s office. There would be a place for you there.” 

Oikawa gapes at him. “Are you offering me a job? At Shiratorizawa?” 

“Of course,” Ushijima says. “I would not have wasted so much time with you if I didn’t value your skills as an attorney.” 

Laughter bubbles up in Oikawa, and he looks up at Ushijima with fierce pride in his eyes. “No offense, Ushiwaka-chan, but I’m not looking to work for anyone other than myself, right now. I’m going into business on my own.”

Ushijima blinks, assessing this statement. “Then you should give me a call when you’re set up. I would be pleased to do business with you.” 

He’s about to take his leave when Iwaizumi speaks up.

“Hold on a second,” he says. “Before, when Oikawa was with Kitaiichi, you never wanted anything from him, other than for him to be your lawyer?” He knows Oikawa wanted nothing at all from that relationship, but Iwaizumi has seen his husband. He can’t imagine that Ushijima would be blind to his charms. 

“No,” Ushijima says blandly. “I recognize the difficulties of being in a high pressure job, and in a relationship. More so than the firm did, obviously.” 

“Wait,” Oikawa hisses, “You’re in a relationship?”

Ushijima nods, then gestures at another table in the bakery, where four men are seated. He must have come to join them for lunch. One of them has violently red hair and legs that seem too long for his body, his elbows against the table and his legs stretched out in front of him. Another, with sun-warmed skin and a kind smile, is gesturing Ushijima over. A third is markedly shorter than the others, with his brown hair slicked back from his forehead at an angle. The fourth sits up straight in his chair, his hair shading from pale at the roots to dark at the tips. When he catches Oikawa and Iwaizumi staring, he lifts his brows questioningly. 

“Wait,” Oikawa says again, “Which one is…?”

“Yes,” Ushijima says simply. “I’ll leave you to your meal. Oikawa, Iwaizumi.” And then he turns to join the other men at their table, leaving Oikawa and Iwaizumi gaping after him.

Iwaizumi breaks first, laughing into the back of his hand. “Do you think he meant _all_ of them?” he wheezes. 

“I have no idea,” Oikawa says, breathless with his own laughter. “Knowing him? Nothing’s impossible.” 

“What the actual hell,” Iwaizumi mutters, after a moment. Oikawa’s still laughing. 

It’s a few minutes later, when they’ve returned to their meal, that Iwaizumi looks up at Oikawa across the table and clears his throat. 

“Yes, Iwa-chan?” 

“I know things have been going well, the past few weeks,” Iwaizumi says, “But even when they’re not, you’re going to let me know, right?”

Oikawa nods. “I will,” he promises.

“Good,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. “Because you’ve got to let me support you, no matter what. I’m entitled, to that.” 

—

Oikawa’s glued to his phone again, but he’s setting the table at the same time, so Iwaizumi decides to allow it. 

“No, no,” he’s saying, speaking enthusiastically to whoever’s on the other end of the line, “It’s fine. Hanamaki’s already joined my team, and Kunimi will be along once he graduates. There’s a couple other people I’ve got my eye on, but we’ll see. And honestly, Futakuchi-kun, we all know you weren’t any happier than I was at Kitaiichi.” 

Iwaizumi turns away from watching him with a shake of his head, setting dishes of food down on the table. When everything’s mostly ready, he reaches over to tap Oikawa on the nose.

“Get off the phone,” he says. “Everyone’ll be here, soon.” 

Oikawa waves him off, but says his goodbyes a moment later and stows his phone. “Iwa-chan,” he whines. “That was an important call.”

“It can wait,” Iwaizumi tells him. Oikawa doesn’t disagree.

The doorbell rings a moment later, and Iwaizumi goes to answer it. Matsukawa’s standing outside, dressed in patterned slacks and an ironed button-down. 

“Oh good,” he says, “This is the right apartment. This guy,” he hooks a thumb over his shoulder, “Was trying to convince me otherwise.”

Iwaizumi looks over Matsukawa’s shoulder to see Hanamaki Takahiro, Oikawa’s erstwhile officemate and future business partner. He catches Iwaizumi’s eye and grins widely. 

“Glad you both could make it,” Iwaizumi says, stepping aside to let them in. “Matsukawa, this is Hanamaki. Hanamaki, Matsukawa.” 

He leads them into the living room, content to let them finish off their introductions for themselves. The doorbell rings again, and before Iwaizumi goes to answer it he taps Matsukawa on the shoulder.

 _Don’t fuck this up_ , he mouths at him, when Hanamaki is turned away. Matsukawa offers him a sleepy grin in response. 

Iwaizumi wants his friend to be happy, of course, but he’s not sure he’ll ever live it down if Oikawa’s matchmaking intuition turns out to be on the money. 

The table is crowded, with six of them— Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Sugawara, Sawamura, Oikawa and Iwaizumi— all seated around it. But it’s a nice kind of crowded, the sort that comes with laughter and bumped elbows and too many hands reaching for each dish. 

Halfway through the meal, Iwaizumi feels Oikawa’s hand settle against his thigh. He lets his own hand drop on top of Oikawa’s, running his thumb along the cool metal of Oikawa’s wedding ring. 

“How’s the set up going, Oikawa?” Sawamura asks. 

“Good,” Oikawa says, and for once there’s no pretense in his smile. “I think we’re going to call it Aoba Johsai. Right, Makki?”

Hanamaki flashes a thumbs up. “Seijoh, for short. It’s got a nice ring to it, right?” 

They all agree. Iwaizumi’s liking the sound of the name more and more. It’s a place where happiness might grow, he thinks. 

—

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi barks, looking around the kitchen for his husband. “You better not have left me to do all the dishes myself.”

Iwaizumi hears the twinkling sound of Oikawa’s laughter, but he doesn’t see him. Setting the dishes aside for the moment, he steps out into the hallway to find the sweater Oikawa had worn for brunch on the floor. Frowning, Iwaizumi picks it up, only to see Oikawa’s socks a few feet away. He follows the trail of clothing down the hall, picking up Oikawa’s t-shirt and jeans along the way.

“Iwa- _chan_ ,” Oikawa calls out, stressing the last syllable. “Hurry up.”

It’s only then that Iwaizumi’s brain catches up to the situation, and he fully imagines what’s waiting for him in the bedroom. He drops the clothes in a heap on the floor, and doesn’t waste any more time. 

Oikawa is laid out across their bed, chin propped up in his hands. His eyes glint when he catches sight of Iwaizumi. “Took you long enough,” he says.

“You’ve got to warn me before you do things like this,” Iwaizumi mumbles, heat already rising in his cheeks. 

“Do I,” Oikawa asks mildly. “And here I was thinking the surprise would make it better.” 

Iwaizumi takes in the long line of Oikawa’s back, the slight rosiness of his skin. Maybe this is better. And it’ll be more so, if he can get out of his own clothes in the next sixty seconds. 

Oikawa rolls over when Iwaizumi joins him on the bed, holding out his hands and inviting Iwaizumi to come as close as possible. He presses his lips against Iwaizumi’s, humming softly against them for a moment. They kiss slowly and languidly, Oikawa’s hands roaming over Iwaizumi’s back as Iwaizumi keeps himself braced over Oikawa. 

Oikawa is red and flushed when he pulls away, looking up at Iwaizumi with smoldering eyes.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi says, pressing another frantic kiss to Oikawa’s jaw. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Oikawa smiles at him. “I’ll make you very happy until then, Hajime.” 

“I know you will,” Iwaizumi breathes. He presses his face into Oikawa’s neck, nuzzling the soft skin there. “You already do.” 

“Well,” Oikawa says primly. “I figured I’d already kept you waiting long enough.” 

And so they resolve to not waste any more time.

**Author's Note:**

> "this is the series that just won't shut up, or decide what genre it is," a second memoir by ao3 user newamsterdam.
> 
> title from the pixies' "[here comes your man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BuNXzklTPtk)."
> 
> comments are always appreciated, and you can come talk to me on [tumblr](http://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/newamsterdame).


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